


Stranger to Your Soul

by ruffboi



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Slow Burn, for whatever that promise is worth, i promise that there will be a happy ending, mostly bc i'm not sure what tags should be added yet, tags will be updated as i move forward, that's the intention anyway
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-18
Updated: 2017-11-04
Packaged: 2019-01-18 23:07:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12398115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ruffboi/pseuds/ruffboi
Summary: Lucy writes and edits Refuge's weekly paper, and has done since she turned up in town with only a vague idea of how she got there.  Mr. Burnsides lives outside of town, and nobody knows much about him.Lucy is absolutely determined to find out more.





	1. The Investigation Begins

**Author's Note:**

> So [theFamousFireLadyM](http://archiveofourown.org/users/TheFamousFireLadyM/pseuds/TheFamousFireLadyM) mentioned in the WDA discord the idea of Magnus being the one to erase everyone's memories, and taking Lucretia to Refuge, and living just outside town and being the Weird Recluse Of Refuge and romance happening.
> 
> I, apparently, latched onto it pretty hard.
> 
> Let's go on a romantic adventure together!
> 
> (Also yes, this used to be titled "Lucy", but I was very unsatisfied with it)

Refuge was a small town, a place people only came on their way to somewhere else.  It was a place where everyone knew everyone else, and the most interesting thing in the weekly paper (the _Refuge Post_ , out on Sundays, 5 silver a copy) was usually the silly cartoons on the back drawn by Lucy - the editor-in-chief, printer, and sole contributor to the paper.

Which was probably why Lucy was so intrigued by Mr. Burnsides, who lived about a mile outside town.

He only came into town about once a month or so, to buy supplies at the general store and drinks at the Davy Lamp, and no one seemed to know much about him.  Sheriff Jack seemed to think he was all right, but Lucy didn't trust anyone who didn't seem to have a job to support his obvious spending and who no one knew anything about.

"Has anyone ever asked him what he does?" she asked Ren once, not long after she'd moved to Refuge.

"Not as such," Ren replied.  "He's friendly enough, though, and he always looks a little sad.  I figure he's had enough trouble in life already without gettin' the third degree from any of us."

"Mm," Lucy answered noncommittally, staring out the window at his retreating back.

It went on like that for years, until one day, Lucy decided that it was in the town's best interests for _someone_ to find out what Mr. Burnsides was up to out there.  (Her decision was not at all impacted by the fact that her ink shipment had been delayed, and so she would not be able to print a paper that week, and so had a fair amount of extra time and nothing to do with it.  That was coincidental.)

She started her investigation the way she always did - with a list of things she already knew, written in her precise handwriting in the small notebook she always had in her pocket.

  1. Mr. Burnsides lived outside of town, and had never lived _in_ town.
  2. He came to town once a month for food and supplies, and usually back copies of the paper, ergo
  3. He had some sort of income that allowed him to purchase said supplies.
  4. He was very friendly but had sad eyes.



Lucy hovered her pencil over point number four, pursing her lips.  It wasn't that she doubted the description Ren had given her once upon a time - over the years she'd verified that pretty well herself.  She just wasn't entirely sure it was relevant to her search to find out who he was.

She closed her notebook with a snap.  If it was irrelevant, she could always strike it out later.  For now, she had work to do.

* * *

That work started, of course, with asking the longer-term residents about what they knew about Mr. Burnsides.  Lucy was hoping, given the gossipy and relatively static nature of the population, that there would be someone who'd know something.  Unfortunately…

Ren: "Aw, jeeze, Lucy, shouldn't we just leave him alone?  He ain't hurtin' nobody out there.  Anyway, all I know is he likes cider more'n ale or wine, so unless you're planning to send him booze…"

Isaak: "Eh, keeps to himself, ain't my problem.  Jack trusts him, anyway."

Cassidy: "Well, I reckon he's some bigshot from down Neverwinter.  Sheriff Jack's always said I can't go botherin' him, anyhow, an' who's bothered by me?  Bigshots'n gerblins, that's who.  You think maybe he's a gerblin in a trenchcoat?  I gotta go hide my root beer barrels…"

Paloma: "He's never been here.  If he had I wouldn't tell you, it's not your business.  Maybe, though, you get a prophecy, it tells you something, yes?"

June, though, June finally gave Lucy something to work with.  It was a relief, after going through over half the town and getting more of the same: "don't know, sheriff trusts him, leave him be."

"Well, I dunno if you should be botherin' him, Miss Lucy," June said cautiously, "But he never said we weren't allowed to go visit or nothin'.  Daddy goes and visits him every once in awhile, too."

 _That_ was something Lucy hadn't known, and she scribbled it eagerly in her notes.  "I'm not gonna bother him, June, I promise.  I just want to know more about him." She tapped the end of her pencil against her chin, thinking of her next question.  "How long has he lived in Refuge?"

"Mmm… Well, about as long as _you_ have," June said.  "Maybe a little longer?"

Lucy was a little taken aback by that - for some reason she'd always assumed Mr. Burnsides had been part of Refuge (as much as he was, anyway) for much longer than she had.  She didn't say as much, though, just jotted it down so she'd remember when and where she learned it.

"High time I did a feature on him, don't you think?" Lucy asked innocently, looking up from her notebook and smiling at June.  

June sighed and wrinkled her nose, not buying Lucy's act for a moment.  "Don't tell Daddy I said anything?" she asked, in lieu of saying anything else.

"I keep all my sources confidential, Miss June, don't you worry."  Lucy stood and kissed June's cheek before turning to leave.  "Thank you!" she called over her shoulder on her way out.

* * *

She considered talking to Sheriff Jack, but in the end Lucy figured he'd just tell her to leave Mr. Burnsides alone - and if the sheriff told her to, that was… well, the point was that Lucy was perfectly content to buck convention and politeness, but she didn't like going against the law, especially when laid down by someone she liked and trusted.

Instead, she woke up one morning and decided that today was the day that she would visit Mr. Burnsides himself.

It wasn't as if the trip needed a great amount of planning - just sturdy boots and a full canteen.  They always said Mr. Burnsides lived a mile outside of town, but really it was closer to three.  Not the most fun, but not impossible by any stretch.  Lucy set out early, before it got too hot, intending to use the heat of midday as an excuse to stay as long as possible, and hopefully wheedle some information out of the reclusive man.

She got within about a quarter mile of the house before she started to hear the barking.  It was definitely coming from the direction of the house, and Lucy slowed, cautious.  If he had guard dogs, she wasn't going to risk life and limb just for a stupid interview, no matter how bored or curious she was.

But as the pack of dogs crested a small dune in front of her and surrounded her, she realized that far from being guard dogs, these dogs were _friendly_ , panting and barking and shoving their heads under her hands to be pet.

"Oh!" She laughed and did her best to give a scratch behind the ears to each of them.  They were all on the larger side, varying in breed and coloring, some calmer and curious and others excitable and pushy.  Everything else aside, Lucy found herself thinking she'd probably like anyone who has this many friendly dogs.

"Hey!" A deep voice boomed out from the hill, and the pack of dogs immediately stilled.  "You know better, be _polite_."  They resumed their quest for attention, but did so much less intensely, keeping a bit of distance instead of pressing against her legs, letting her move again.  Lucy looked up and locked eyes with Mr. Burnsides himself.  She'd never really seen him up-close, and was surprised by how much younger he looked than she'd expected.  Older than her, certainly, but not by much.  She'd always pictured him as some sort of retired adventurer, but while he had some silver shot through the temples of his brown hair, he was clearly still in his prime.

She tried not to think about how good he made it look.  That was inappropriate on _so_ many levels.

"Hi there!" she said, grinning her best Friendly Reporter smile and stepped through the swirl of dogs around her.  They parted readily, and she pulled out her notebook and quickly jotted down a note — _v. well trained dogs_.

"Uh," he responded.  He'd been smiling at his dogs when she first looked over, fond but exasperated at their antics.  He saw her, though, and something in his expression shut down, and that smile was nowhere to be found.  "Can I help you?"

"Actually, you can," she said.  "I'm Lucy, I run the _Post_ over in Refuge a couple miles back?" She gestured over her shoulder, in the direction of the town.  "I was hopin' I could get an interview with ya."  She slips into the looser accent of Refuge, trying to put him at ease.  She's always been a bit prissy for the rural town - they love her for it, but it's true - but she can blend in if she tries.  She hopes it'll put Mr. Burnsides at ease.  "Been kinda quiet, thought we'd do a feature on our mysterious resident.  Just for some fun, of course."

"Uh," he responded, still staring at her with that strange look on his face.  "Right."  One of the dogs broke away from the pack and pressed against his legs.  Mr. Burnsides seemed to shake out of a trance when it did, and pet the dog's head.  Lucy watched the exchange curiously, wondering what had prompted… well, _any_ of it, frankly.  

Mr. Burnsides whistled sharply, and all the dogs broke away from her in an instant, flowing back over the hill towards (she assumed) the house.  "I'm sorry, Ms. Lucy," he said, his jaw tense and his balled fists shoved in his pockets, "but I'd rather not have my personal life printed in the paper, if it's all the same to you."

Without waiting for a response, he turned on his heel and went back over the hill, leaving her standing in the sand alone. She scribbled down a couple of notes, then shoved her notebook in her skirt pocket with a determined grin.

"All right," she said to herself, staring after where he'd disappeared, all pretense of Refuge-accent dropped.  "If you want to play hard to get, we'll play hard to get."


	2. Persistence is a Virtue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucy is nothing if not persistent - living in Refuge taught her that. But Mr. Burnsides is being particularly reticent and it's _impossibly_ frustrating.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks go to the Wooden Ducks Anonymous chat, for brainstorming possible conversation attempts with me. You are all brilliant and I love you desperately.

Lucy took a couple days to fully formulate her plan (and to prepare next week's paper for printing, as her ink had finally come in).  Clearly she couldn't just walk up and expect him to talk to her, he'd made that clear.  She had to give him a _reason_ to talk to her, even for just a few minutes.

She'd heard she can be very charming, she was _sure_ that a few minutes was all she'd need.

Unfortunately, she found that _getting_ a few minutes was harder than she expected.  Her first tactic was simply to go back to his house, get all the way to the door, and knock.  Mr. Burnsides actually opened the door, looking down at some papers as he did, clearly expecting someone else.

"Avi, you don't need to—"

"Mr. Burnsides, hello!" she said, smiling widely.  She only ever smiled like that when she was trying to soothe people into trusting her, and felt fake and insincere, but no one in her memory had ever seemed to realize it.  His head jerked up, and he blinked slowly at her like he wasn't sure what he was seeing.  "Lucy, from the Refuge Post?  I was hoping you might reconsider that interview."

His mouth worked a bit, no sound coming out, but he seemed to finally shake himself out of his shock long enough to say, "No, thank you," before closing the door in her face.

Lucy added another note to her section on Mr. Burnsides: _does not observe basic conventions of hospitality._

Her next try was to actively bring him something, so he'd have to keep the door open long enough to be handed it, at least.  She was printing the next day's papers when she realized it was obviously going to be a hand-delivered paper, a special edition with _two_ weeks' worth of news and gossip, thanks to her ink delay.  She set Cassidy up to sell the papers in her place, put on a nice skirt that wouldn't show dust too badly, and hiked out to Mr. Burnsides' house with a paper tucked under her arm.

The dogs didn't surprise her this time, and the pack was smaller - the rest were, she assumed, inside or on a different part of Mr. Burnsides' property.  They sniffed her hands politely, perhaps remembering the scolding they got last time, or simply not overwhelmed by meeting a brand new person anymore.  She gave them each a scratch behind the ears before she continued on.  No reason to be rude, after all.

The house itself, when it came into view, was actually quite nice.  The style was a bit different from most buildings in Refuge (though it seemed oddly familiar to Lucy), but it seemed solid and well-made, with some bits of decorative carving on the eaves and what looked like a garden off to one side of the yard.

And Mr. Burnsides, bless him, was sitting on the porch whittling something.  Lucy let a faint, triumphant smile flicker across her face as she strode across the yard and up the steps before he even noticed that his dogs had brought a visitor.  

"Hello, Mr. Burnsides!" she said, and while she saw his shoulders tense at the sound of his voice, his head didn't snap up this time.  Instead, he sighed, eyes locked on whatever it was he was carving.

"What do you want, L— Ms. Lucy?"

She stopped in front of him and held the paper out.  "Refuge Post, hot off the presses," she said.  "I figure you probably don't get the news particularly promptly out here, what with only coming into town once a month."

He looked dubious as he slowly reached out to take the paper, but Lucy could _swear_ she saw the corner of his mouth curving up.  "Does _anybody_ out here?" he asked.  "We're kind of far away from civilization."

Lucy took that as her cue to sit in the second chair on the porch, leaning her arms on her knees.   _"Well,_ I'll tell you if you answer a few questions of my own," she says.

The hint of a smile that had crept onto his face disappeared immediately, and he pushed himself to his feet.  "Not interested," he said, moving toward the door.  "Sorry."  He let a few of the dogs follow him in, then closed the door without a word.

The paper was still sitting on the porch.  Lucy scowled and headed back down the porch stairs toward town.  Even if he wasn't interested, he could at least be _polite._  She would charm him into talking to her if it _killed her,_ and if he kept being such a dickhead, it just might.

An indirect approach was her next bright idea.  His dogs were friendly, and liked her well enough.  So she hiked out every day for a week, with doggie biscuits, and sent them off when she was done loving on them with notes tied to their collars, asking if he'd give her an interview, _please,_ for posterity's sake if nothing else.

She finally got a response one morning when she arrived, in the form of a note already attached to one of the dogs.  When she'd given the dog in question a biscuit and then unrolled the note, it just said _PLEASE GO AWAY._

Her next plan came when a caravan came through with deliveries for the General Store.  It wasn't quite time for Mr. Burnsides' monthly visit into town, but that didn't mean some of his supplies weren't already set aside.  Maybe she could just… deliver them for him.

"Hey, Suzie, have any of Mr. Burnsides' things come in?" she asked when she came to pick up her paper shipment.  

"Some of it," the halfling woman who ran the store said.  "Mostly some food, nothing perishable though.  It should be fine until he—"

"I can take it to him," Lucy said immediately, biting back a grimace at how unsubtle that was.  "I'm just, y'know, trying to get him to open up so I can do a piece on him for the paper," she clarified.  "So I might as well take him some of his things, right?"

Suzie considered this for a moment, then shrugged.  "Long as he gets it, I don't see a problem with it.  Just make sure he signs for it, lemme get a receipt written up."  Suzie took an inventory of the things that had arrived already, and loaned Lucy a little hand cart to carry them all in so she wouldn't have to juggle it all in her arms for three miles.

No dogs greeted her until she was already in sight of the house, and even then it was only the puppies.  (Well, none of the four in question were really _puppies,_ exactly, but they were clearly the youngest of the herd.)

"Hey guys," she said, greeting all of them with the now-customary ear scratches.  "Where's your dad, huh?"  They bounced around her, then broke away to run back behind the house.  Lucy left the cart and the groceries and followed them curiously.  She was expecting that maybe Mr. Burnsides was training the other dogs, or doing some sort of yard work that would keep their attention.  Maybe he had some livestock hidden somewhere around here that the dogs were herding.

Instead, however, she was greeted with the sight of most of Mr. Burnsides' dogs circling a packed-dirt ring outlined with rocks, inside which two men were fighting.  The dogs were intent on the proceedings, one of them barking when the men got too close to the edge, clearly acting as a sort of "too close to the edge" warning system.  They were both large, and shirtless, though the slightly slimmer one with a sword was wearing an undershirt.  The one wielding a large battle axe, she realized with a start, was none other than Mr. Burnsides.  Without a shirt and mid-combat, it was exceedingly clear that he was very well-muscled under his comfortable layer of fat, and scars of varying ages criss-crossed his skin.  

Lucy sucked in a sharp breath, catching the attention of some of the dogs, who let out sharp barks.  Mr. Burnsides blocked a blow, then stepped back from his opponent, his confused frown shifting to an irritated one.

"Hey, boss?" the other man asked cautiously.  Mr. Burnsides ignored him, stalking closer to Lucy.  He did, however, stop before he got too close, she noticed.  She appreciated that, though it definitely put a dent in his ability to be intimidating.

"What are you doing here?" he demanded.  "How many times do I have to tell you to _leave me alone?"_

"What reason do you have to say _no,_  Mr. Burnsides?" she asked, her own voice sharp.  "What are you hiding?"

_"Boss…"_ said the other man, his tone pitching up slightly.

"I'm… I'm not hiding _anything,"_  Mr. Burnsides said, and Lucy made a note to add _bad liar_ to her list of known facts.  "I just want to be _left alone."_

"People deserve to know who you are if you're living in their town," Lucy started, and Mr. Burnsides finally closed the distance between them.  She flinched slightly, afraid he was going to grab her, but he just turned her around by her shoulders and propelled her towards the front yard with a single hand on her back — while he'd manhandled her a bit, it was firm but gentle, and actually not frightening at all despite her expectation.

"I swear to Istus, I see you here again, I'm getting the sheriff involved," he said.   _"Get. Out."_

"Fine!" Lucy said, straightening her skirt and lifting her chin.  "I brought your groceries.  Be sure to get the cart back to Suzie."  Then she turned on her heel and stalked all the way back to Refuge, muttering about insufferable rude _brutes_ the entire time.


	3. Apology Cookies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ren points out that Lucy's been kind of an ass.
> 
> Lucy responds in the only logical way - by baking apology cookies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So for NaNoWriMo this year, instead of trying to write 50k words, I'm trying to write 10 chapters of this fic. With any luck, that means you'll be getting a new chapter every 2-3 days. Don't hold your breaths, but I'd like to keep up if I can!

"I have  _ never _ in my life met someone so rude!" Lucy exclaimed as she bursted into the Davy Lamp and sat at the bar in a movement that, if it were someone else, could be described as throwing herself into her seat.

Ren, to her credit, barely batted an eyelash.  "Who, hun?"

"Mr.  _ Burnsides," _ Lucy drawled, venom dripping from the words in a way she'd learned from the locals.  (Ren, especially, was very good at that.)  "I brought him his groceries and was going to ask him a few questions and he all but  _ pushed me off his property!" _

"Mmm," Ren hummed, setting a drink in front of Lucy.  A sip revealed it to be sarsparilla, with maybe a small dash of tequila for flavor.  "Well," she said, "you  _ did _ sort of impose yourself in his life kinda…  _ insistently." _  She leaned on the bar, meeting Lucy's eyes.  "Maybe he'd rather have a friend than a biographer."

"He—" Lucy started to argue before she'd even processed Ren's words, but they sank in quickly.  She hadn't  _ intended _ to make him feel more like a product than a person, but… "Well… I suppose I  _ can _ be a bit… forward," she said slowly.  Then she groaned and dropped her head to the bar.  

"There it is," Ren said, a faint hint of laughter in her voice.

"I was so  _ obnoxious!" _ Lucy cried into the worn wood.

"Drink your sarsparilla," Ren told her.  When Lucy sat up with a sigh and complied, she continued.  "You focused more on the story than the person.  Fair enough, but he probably feels a little like that's all he's good for, with you."

"I'm a horrible person," came the wailing response.  

"Oh, stop that," Ren said, snapping a clean bar towel to flick the back of Lucy's head.  "You just gotta apologize is all.  Maybe you'll learn about him, maybe you won't, but you were kind of an asshole and you should tell him you're sorry."

Lucy pushed herself up and collected herself.  She was a grown-ass woman nearing 30 years old and she was a professional journalist.  She would not wail into her sarsparilla like a 12-year-old whose crush thought she had cooties.  "Right," she said, and downed the rest of her drink.  (On second taste, it didn't seem like there was any tequila at all, unfortunately.)  "I have an apology to make."

"Good luck, hun!" Ren called after her as she strode confidently out of the bar and headed towards the general store.  Lucy wasn't sure how to apologize properly for this whole debacle, but she knew one thing at least:

The best way to apologize was with baked goods.

Probably it had something to do with her mother, Lucy reasoned.  There wasn't anyone else she could think of who would've instilled that sort of certainty in her, but she knew it in her bones.  She picked up ingredients from the general store with only a basic idea of how to even  _ make _ a cookie, let alone how to make one good enough for an apology, but she saw no reason to stop now.  If her first batch turned out horribly she could always go ask Paloma for help  _ then, _ but she was sure she wouldn't need to.

The first batch ended up with slightly too much vanilla extract, but was otherwise delicious, and whatever had possessed her to put  _ sour cream _ in cookie dough had paid off, because they had ended up cakey and delicious, if overly vanilla-ish.  The second batch turned out perfectly, thick and cakey, coated in cinnamon and sugar, and Lucy was certain that if any cookie was worthy of being called an "apology cookie", these cookies fit the bill exactly.

She piled them up on a plate and put it in a covered basket to keep them safe from the sand in the canyon, and set out for Mr. Burnsides' place a couple of hours before sunset.  There were no dogs to greet her as she approached, probably all inside having dinner (or being kept safe from her), but she strode up the stairs and knocked confidently, not feeling at all confident.

That had been something she'd always prided herself on, after all - being able to treat people like  _ people _ and not  _ news. _  And yet here she was, treating this man like a news story and not a person.  She had failed — not only as a journalist but as a decent person — and she would apologize to him if she had to shout it through the door.

Thankfully, he answered the door after a few moments, though he  _ did _ sigh deeply when he saw her.  "Miss Lucy—" he started.

"Wait," she said quickly.  "I… I'm sorry.  I've been so focused on getting a story that I forgot you're a  _ person _ .  If you want to keep your business to yourself, you have every right to do so."  She held out the cookie-covered plate like an offering.  "I… I'm not sure how good they are.  I sort of winged it, but… well, I thought I should apologize for being a dickass."

Mr. Burnsides had already taken the plate when she finished that sentence, and he seemed to spasm slightly, covering his mouth as he met her eyes.  She was pretty sure he was laughing.

"I know it's not a professional word, but I  _ was," _ she protested, and Mr. Burnsides ducked his head, hiding his face entirely.  "If you want to mock my efforts," she started, but he held up a hand.

"No, no, I… it's fine," he said, the sound of restrained laughter obvious in his voice.  "Thank you.  For the apology  _ and _ the cookies."  He hesitated for a moment, then stepped back a bit.  "Do you… want to come in?"

Lucy grinned, and stepped inside.

His home was cozy and comfortable, with dog beds and pillows scattered in most of the free floor space, and carved knick-knacks taking up most of the shelf space.  The curtains were open and the ceilings were high, which kept it from feeling claustrophobic despite the dark stain of the wood that the home was built from.

It didn't quite feel like it belonged in the Woven Gulch, but it was a welcoming home, and Lucy liked it quite a lot on first glance.

"Do you want some… some milk or something?" Mr. Burnsides offered, placing the plate of cookies on the table and gesturing for her to sit.

"Yes, please," Lucy said, more out of instinct than anything else, as she doled out the now-expected greeting scritches to the dogs clustered around her.  "I hope you like the cookies.  You… like cookies, right?"

Mr. Burnsides chuckled.  "Yeah, I like cookies."  He placed a glass of milk near her, and kept one for himself before reaching out for a cookie. "I… I have to say I appreciate your apology," he said. "I gotta apologize too, though, I was… kind of a dick."

"Oh," Lucy said, and restrained herself from agreeing with him. "Well, there was a lot going on, and I was kind of pushy."

"Maybe a little," Mr. Burnsides agreed, ducking his head to try to hide his grin.  He shoved half a cookie in his mouth, probably to keep himself from saying anything else if Lucy had to guess. He chewed twice.

And then he stiffened and went completely still, so still that one of the dogs padded over to him and bumped its head under his hand, resting its chin on his knee.  Lucy cringed.  "I'm sorry, I didn't… really have a recipe, I thought I'd gotten it right, but—"

"Mmph," Mr. Burnsides said.  He chewed quickly, swallowed, took a long drink of milk.  "No, it's.  They're very good," he said, voice low and soft. His jaw was tense, and while Lucy couldn't see his other hand, she got the distinct sense it was clenched in a fist.  She cautiously nibbled her own cookie, wanting to verify he wasn't being overly polite.

It was fucking delicious, just like she'd thought.  So what in the world was his problem?

"If you don't like it, you can just say so," she said, trying (and failing) to keep the confusion from her voice.  Mr. Burnsides sucked in a sharp breath and laughed, the tension in his body suddenly releasing.

"Don't you try to weasel out of giving me these cookies, Miss Lucy, you made 'em for me and I'm probably going to eat them for dinner to be honest," he declared, protectively pulling the plate towards himself, shielding it with one large arm.  Lucy laughed, and darted her hand over his arm to snag a second cookie.  "Hey!"

"Hey yourself," she shot back.  "I baked them, I should get to sample the fruits of my labor, don't you think?"

Mr. Burnsides sighed deeply and melodramatically, prompting a questioning whine from the dog still resting its head in his lap, and he looked down to the dog with a long-suffering expression.  "She makes a good point," he said mournfully.  "I think I've gotta let her have a couple."

"Wuff," the dog responded softly.

"No, not you," Mr. Burnsides replied.  "You had nothing to do with these cookies.  These cookies are  _ mine." _

A small snort escaped from Lucy despite her best efforts, and Mr. Burnsides looked up at his laughing guest,  _ deeply _ betrayed.  "Sorry," she said, struggling to assert a straight face.  "You're… not what I expected."

"Yeah, I've heard that pretty often," Mr. Burnsides shrugged.  "What'd you expect?"

"Honestly?" Lucy asked, and Mr. Burnsides nodded, gesturing for her to continue.  "Well, something a bit more… uh…  _ odd?" _

"Sinister hermit who hoards dogs and has a house full of junk and possibly dead bodies?" he suggested, eyes dancing.  Lucy shrugged.

"More or less," she agreed.

"Sorry to disappoint."  He grinned and shoved another cookie in his mouth.

They spent the next twenty minutes or so talking about his dogs, mostly their various breeds, ages, and names.  His oldest, the one who seemed to respond when he needed shaking out of something, was BJ.  The puppies were Gadget, Bolt, and Wrench. The big reddish collie that seemed to have taken an especial liking to her was, apparently, Stardust.  

"I usually let some friends suggest names when I get puppies," he said wryly.  "It's led to some interesting combinations."

"Interesting's not  _ bad," _ Lucy pointed out.

"Guess not.  Hard to explain sometimes, though."  Mr. Burnsides looked up at the clock on the mantle and pushed himself to his feet.  "Sorry to be a bad host, but I've got some chores to do before it gets late…"

"Oh!" Lucy checked the time herself, surprised at how long she'd spent chatting with him.  "I hadn't realized it was so late, I need to get back to the office and finish getting ready for printing anyway."  She stood and brushed off her skirt, stepping over where Bolt had fallen asleep on the floor near the table.  "Thank you very much for accepting my apology, Mr. Burnsides," she added with a smile.  "It was very nice to get to meet your dogs properly."

He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck and ducking his head again.  "Well, I couldn't really turn down an apology that came with  _ cookies, _ you know?  All's forgiven."

"Good."  Lucy nodded to herself and strode to the front door.  "Have a good evening, Mr. Burnsides!"

"You too."  There was a pause, and then he hesitantly called out, "Miss Lucy?" She paused halfway out the door and turned back to look at him, filling the doorway to the kitchen, hands shoved in his pockets.  "You… could come back, maybe.  If you wanted to.  The dogs'd love to see you again."

Lucy smiled, the expression blooming slowly across her face.  "I'd like that," she said, then stepped through the door and closed it behind her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lucretia's Apology Cookies are 100% a real recipe that I grew up with. They are fuckin DELICIOUS. If you would like the recipe, you can find me on tumblr at [ruffboijuliaburnsides](http://ruffboijuliaburnsides.tumblr.com). Send me a message or an ask, I'll get you the recipe. 
> 
> Seriously, I baked a bunch as gifts for the families I babysat for when I was a teenager and they all LOST THEIR SHIT about how sweet I was and how good they were, they are _A+++_ cookies for getting on someone's good side.


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